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Thursday, April 5, 2012

a toast

So here we are.
I would like to propose a toast: to the idiots.

Yes, here’s to all the idiots, overpaid and unqualified, lurking ‘round every corner, touching every element of our lives, making us anxiously sweat just a bead or two more than need be. Were it not for them, the rest of us might walk too confidently with our heads held high, and subsequently trip.
Here’s to the doltish, the smiling ones who don’t know why they are smiling, protected by that rare cocoon of Perceived Value, granted to them by some Unknown Power. Without them, we would have no faces to put in the bullseye of our collective dart boards.
Here’s to the morons whose opinions matter most but whose opinions are formed by sheer ignorance, fear, and selfishness... for they allow us to better spot the rebellious geniuses that lurk in the shadows, waiting.
Here’s to the vainglorious ninnies who trowel away at their ever-rising pedestals, and yet somehow manage to avoid getting cement under their nails. How else could we see the sun if we are not looking up at them?
Here’s to the helium-filled chowderheads who revel in our bowing and scraping, and who love the sound of our popping knees, for it is they who keep our orthopedists and therapists flush with business. 
Here’s to all of those special, special lummoxes who have no royal idea of anything, to whom we are beholden to say yes, to whom truth is beside the point. They bring fresh new spice to our stories told at parties and to bartenders. 
Here’s to the incompetent inheritors, the lesser spawn of the successful, who somehow avoided the chutes and only climbed the ladders. They are vital to the world’s supply of slick and smarm. 
Here’s to the superficial dingbats with vacant minds who blissfully sleep at night on piles of lucre and lies, never too hot or too cold. We need them to inspire angry poets.
Here’s to the imbeciles, the thickheaded meatballs with whom we try and try to reason until we are all shades of violet, cartoon steam tooting out of our ears, wanting to punch things. Love of violent sports would have slowly evolved out of human beings altogether were it not for them.
Here’s to the everyday nitwits who keep us afraid, and make us doubt every inch of ourselves, every choice we have made, every step we have taken, every dream we’ve held dear... for if they did not suck away our souls and leave us empty, we would not feel the burning need to fill, fill, fill the gaping hole... and ice cream sales would be way, way down.
And with no one buying ice cream, they’d eventually stop making ice cream altogether.
So raise your glasses, hoist your steins, and clink ‘em. To the idiots! Salud!
Yes indeed. Welcome to me.


  1. These. Idiots. Are. Killing. My. Soul.

    You're singing my song.

  2. Also to the perpetual screw-ups, whose multiple failures are cushioned by our repeated unquestioning picking up of the pieces, whose constant mistakes resonate their way into our lives and condemn US to live with the repercussions, as apposed to those who caused them. Without them, we would most likely never aim anywhere in life (because we would most likely have already got there).